HORROR TALES OF THE SILENT NIGHT

In the Quiet of the Night

December 16th, 2011

1:48 AM

There is no rest for me tonight. Outside, the wind howls with yet another winter storm; here, in this remote cabin the university has so graciously afforded me, I find the gale closely resembles the sound of a woman screaming. It is maddening to toss and turn like I have, so preoccupied with falling asleep that the effort itself is what is keeping me awake. So I return to these pages once more, a man half-crazed with exhaustion – yet the impulse to record these musings jolts the energy to my bones that is so strangely absent during waking hours.

This morning I found a new set of tracks going past my front door; closer inspection indicated it was a quadrupedal creature, and traveling fast. I couldn't help but wonder if the animal had survived the night – this wilderness was like none other I have studied in before, being so barren and cold and dark. To my knowledge, the only predators out here are bears and wolves; the former of which should be hibernating. Photos were taken, observations noted and uploaded accordingly. My venture into the surrounding woods had been fruitful as well; the subtle signs of life had whispered all around me, bracing themselves for the coming storm. The piney branches reached heavenward, gathering what sunlight they could; the bark of the Aspen, stripped repeatedly by what was likely a herd of deer; the shrill call of a hawk, circling patiently as it sought out its dinner. The wonder of nature, even in the dead of winter. It seems the world never truly sleeps.

My own dinner had been a heated can of chili and several pieces of French bread, smothered in butter. The supplies come every two weeks and I am learning how to ration them, without allowing the fresh produce to go to waste. I suppose in a way I should be grateful for this solitude, for this chance to study over the holiday break, so that I may record and publish my findings in next semester's journal. Even so; it can get eerie at times. Especially when I cannot sleep.

Before making another futile attempt at slumber, I feel the need to record one puzzling aspect of today's trek, as I am certain it will fade from my memory in time. Upon my return just before sunset, I found what looked to be initials carved into an Aspen tree, not more than twenty yards from my front door. I am positive it was not there when I first left...the sloppy letters resembling an M and an E were just about the size of my hand and surely, I would have noticed when I first headed out? Either that or I was so preoccupied with the journey to come that I simply passed right by it. I could see the letters when I turned to look from my front door. Bizarre...but intriguing. Perhaps I have a neighbor.

December 18th, 2011

11:17 PM

The storm lasted straight through the past two days, making any travel impossible. Outside my window it has been nothing but a wash of white; the world gone quiet, blank as canvas. I have attempted to head to bed early, but to no avail. Being cooped up within these four walls has not done me any favors, I'm sure. My body is restless but my mind entirely preoccupied with my lack of progress, the halt of my work, and a single streak upon my only window. I had discovered it upon waking this morning and – this must be the isolation – I have been fascinated by it all day. The window adjacent to my front door had a line drawn in the frost down its dead center, about a foot in length, as if someone had pressed their finger to the icy glass outside and swiped downward. It brought dim recollections of me doing this as a child, except I would draw stick figures or write my name.

Did someone come up to my window? I have tried to make reasonable assumptions: perhaps a chunk of snow had fallen from the roof and grazed the glass on its way down. Or maybe the wild wind had blown something against my window and I just hadn't noticed. But a quick assessment had proved neither of these things were possible, as the snow beneath the pane was as smooth as the landscape – white, white, white. No pile of dislodged snow, no foreign object laying atop the powder. I have settled on the likelihood that whatever it was is buried beneath the drifts, as the accumulation has been swift and steady while the storm rages on.